Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Inside her caravan, he stopped when he saw the mess. “What happened?”
“Sorry,” she said, turning her back on him and busying herself with picking items off the floor. “I didn’t have time to tidy up. I’m not usually this messy.”
He couldn’t read her expression, but from the way every muscle in her back and shoulders tensed, whatever had happened to create the havoc was serious. Not pushing for an explanation, he started gathering bowls and cups from the floor.
She grabbed his hand as he was about to place a cup on the table.
“What are you doing, Bono?”
“Getting this place straightened out.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t need saving.”
Understanding bloomed in his heart. “Is that what other men try to do?”
She dropped her hand and looked away from him.
“It’ll go quicker if we do it together,” he said.
“I don’t deserve help. I should clean up my own mess.”
He chuckled. “Why don’t you flog yourself while you’re at it?” Without waiting for a reply, he resumed his task.
This time, she didn’t stop him. They worked side by side, silently and efficiently. Not once were they under each other’s feet in the small space. Like a well-oiled machine. Like parts that fit together.
When everything was back in its place, she put a pot of water on the two-plate stove and turned on the gas. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
He made himself as comfortable as he could on the small corner bench by the table. “Why did you choose to live here? I have firsthand knowledge of how extortionate your rates are, so it can’t be the money.”
“This is Doumar’s idea of keeping me down to earth.” She gave a wry smile. “Of reminding me of my place.”
“You’re not married.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Of course not.”
“You’re more to him than just an employee, but you’re not his wife, and you’re not one of his prostitutes. Yet he controls you to the extent of what you wear and where you live.”
Scooping ground coffee into a French press, she didn’t look at him when she said, “Why do you say that?”
“The clothes you wore at the club are very different from what you wear when you’re alone. That outfit wasn’t you. What did he mean when he said you’re property?”
She turned to face him and leaned on the counter. “That I belong to him.”
“If this is how he treats you,” he looked around the trashy, meager space, “he doesn’t love you.” His gaze slipped to the tattoo on her breast that peeked from the neckline of the dress, the emblem of the Dutchman’s business. “Doumar bought you, didn’t he?”
The water boiled with a shrill whistle. She turned off the gas and reverted her attention to preparing the coffee as if the question didn’t carry weight.
The thought was too disconcerting. It was vital that he knew.
Now.
“Answer me, Sky. Are you his slave?”
Shame crept into her eyes, but she didn’t avert them. “Yes.”
The world tipped as the truth hit him. There were willing slaves, as in BDSM play, and then there were real slaves, the kind who cost money. Had she sold herself? Had she needed the money that badly, or was it worse? Yes, she’d never sell herself. It could only be worse.
He clenched his hands under the table. “Who sold you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” he hissed.
“Why? What’s done is done.”
“Whoever sold you took away your freedom and therefore deserves to die.” He’ll kill the bastard himself.
“Fate already took care of that. She’s long dead.”
“She?”
“My grandmother.”
Suppressing the urge to grab her, soothe her, spit on her grandmother’s grave, and kill that bastard Doumar, he sat calmly, waiting for her to pour the coffee. When she put a cup in front of him and sat down on the bench, he dragged her onto his lap, keeping his arms lightly around her.
“How old were you?” he asked, keeping pity and anger from his voice. She wouldn’t want either.
“Sixteen.”
A child. Goddamn. “Was it the money?”
“There was that yes, and the fact that I was cursed.”
“Or blessed,” he said, “with seeing the future.”
“Or the past.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “If he lets you live alone, I assume he’s not keeping you for sex.”
“Very perceptive.”
Of course. She had to be earning Doumar a lot of money. “It’s your fortune-telling skill he needs.” Still, Doumar had acted more like a jealous lover than a greedy owner. Something didn’t add up. “Slavery is illegal. He can’t stop you if you want to walk away.” Or maybe she didn’t. Did she love that son of a bitch?
Turning so that she straddled him, she slipped her arms around his neck. “Your coffee is getting cold.”
He cupped her face. “Sky, listen to me, and listen carefully. This changes everything. If Doumar only owns you in some warped, fucked-up, illegal way, all the rules as they stand are null and void. The hands-off policy no longer applies, do you understand? In my eyes, you’re no longer another man’s woman. You’re open prey. I’ll chase you, and I’ll chase you hard. Tell me now, and I’ll take you away from him,” he looked around the space, “from all of these theatrics that’s not you.” He’d risk his life and his position in the team to save her if she was being held against her will.